War Relic Part 1
by Dee the Man
Summary: A story of time travel in Star Trek TNG universe introduces a new character.
1. Chapter 1 Prelude to Battle

**War Relic**

A story of time travel in Star Trek TNG universe

Star Trek fan fiction by Dee Waldron

Prologue

"Captains Log, star date: 44012.8. The Enterprise has now left McKinley Station ship dock and entered high Earth orbit. The machinists and technicians at McKinley have worked wonders on the Enterprise to repair the extensive battle damage sustained in our running combat with the Borg. Systems testing and minor bug fixes will continue for another 24 hours before we leave orbit and continue on to our next assignment. All ship visitors have now disembarked. Crew rotations are still underway, so shuttle traffic to and from the ship is still quite heavy. Likewise, the ship's transporters are working under a heavy schedule bringing aboard personnel and Class III cargo".

Captain Jean-Luc Picard reviewed the log entry briefly before saving it into the log database. Then he turned at his desk to peer out the window at the Earth passing around, and around It'll be good to finally get underway he thought. He still wore some of the bandages that covered the healing scars. Scars from the removed Borg devices that had been implanted in him, that had made him into… "I've got to stop thinking about that." he said out load to no one but himself. It'll be good to finally get underway he thought.

In Transporter Room 1, Electricians Mate 2nd Class Ricardo Bolyjack worked the transporter controls with the ease of long experience. A six year veteran of Star Fleet, he would soon be going before the promotion board for his 3rd class rating. A tall slender black man from New Orleans, he was looking forward to being a full fledged NCO, and the chance to attend Star Fleet's NCO Leadership Academy.

He had just beamed-down three crew members who were rotating off to new assignments. After receiving the "clear" signal from the receiving station, he began working the controls to lock onto the next cargo package beam-up that was on his schedule. In the very next moment something happened that was completely out of sync with his well organized work routine and schedule. The ship's computer locked the transporters down into "standby" mode and there was a "Buffer anomaly" message on his display. As if he'd been shocked, he jerked his hands away from the console.

"That's crazy"! he said out load.

"What's up BJ?" his transporter assistant asked, clearly confused with the situation.

"I don't know. Its crazy. It says we intercepted a 'transporter signal type 6A' and stored an encrypted package in the transporter buffer. Then it locked down"!

He was shaking his head side to side. "This is not right, cuz there's no such thing as a type 6A transporter signal". he said matter-of-factly. He hated this kind of situation. He was senior enough, and with enough experience to know how to handle any problems that occurred during his watch over the transporter room. But this problem was beyond him and so, he was going to have to ask for help. He really hated this. On the other hand, knowing when to ask for help is a sign of good judgment. He touched his comm badge.

"Transporter Room One to Chief O'Brien".

"O'Brien here. I know you've got a problem there. The whole system is down and Commander Riker is on my back _already_! Can you get it cleared and restarted"? Senior Master Chief Petty Officer Miles O'Brien was already walking at a fast pace toward the turbo-lift when Bolyjack had called him.

"Negative Chief. I've got a message on the display requiring override by 'command authority' only".

"Blimey!" Miles whispered under his breath. "I'll be right there!" he called out. He ran into the turbo-lift car and the doors wisped closed.

Part 1 (approx 250 years earlier)

**Field of Honor, Field of Horror**

Chapter One: Prelude to Battle

Just after dawn he looked out across the park towards the northeast. Devastation was everywhere, and the battle had yet to be fought here. Oh, but it would be. They were coming, of that he had no doubt.

It was cold, and despite it being early spring there was much snow on the ground. More would fall. The sunshine had almost been blotted out by all the dirt and ash blown into the upper atmosphere. They called it "nuclear winter".

Looking towards the east now, Major George W. Pierce (U.S. Army, Airborne Ranger, etc.) could see the wreckage of the once great city of St. Louis in the dim light of morning. Five large-yield nuclear hits, all within a few minutes of each other, had reduced the city to ruble. That was Khan's reply when the military commander of the city had refused to surrender. Several more low-yield tactical nukes had struck military targets within the last several days, but none within the last 24 hours. Khan and his military commander, General Greene, had realized their mistake almost too late. But the Army Corp of Engineers was now finishing what Khan and Greene had almost done for them. Destroying the bridges over the Mississippi River. Soon, only one would remain.

The only other good news: the wind had blown east, taking most of the fallout with it and dropping it right on the enemy lines.

"This damn war" George mumbled to himself. He watched the men and women of his battalion working on the last ambush positions ahead of their primary defense line. There were two fallback lines behind that one. Wishful thinking he mused.

The how and why of the war, he couldn't care about any more. So much of it was unclear, and everyone you talked to had a different conspiracy theory.

George wasn't even sure of the exact date today. That's how focused and intense the fighting had been over the last several weeks. He was pretty sure it was still the month of March. Probably late March, 2043. Can't be sure of the day, but the month and year… yeah, that's right.

Sgt. Major Clarence Reynolds approached him while wiping the sweat off his brow. Tall, Black Afro-American, he was much too young to be that senior NCO rank. But such becomes the norm during warfare.

"We're finished here sir. Better get up into the Alpha-line and get set up now".

"Right Sgt. Major. Lets do it then. Get the detail cleared out and I'll follow you up".

"Actually Major sir," Reynolds said with a wry smile, "I'd prefer you lead the detail up, and I'll follow _you_ out".

The two stared at each other in a brief moment of silence.

Then to explain and break the silence, Sgt. Major Reynolds said "The kids need to see their battalion commander up front of them sir, leading."

George shook his head in exhausted agreement. "Yeah, that's a good point. Okay then, lets do it."

So the Major shouted out so all could hear "Lets go people! Up to the line and finish digging in your positions. Sgt. Major, bring up the rear. Lets move out!" And so they did, climbing the short distance up to the hastily made berm to their "alpha-line"

As they marched up, George looked west towards the Mississippi and saw the remains of the great St. Louis archway, once the tallest monument in America. All that remained were the two shattered stubs of its legs at the base. Stainless steel debris littered the ground. Large chucks of the structure were still visible laying in the water off the river shoreline. The concussion wave of the first nuke to hit the city had blown it over like a house of cards. The underground Visitors Center between the legs of the arch had briefly been used as a division CP. That was abandoned now, moved across the river, overseeing the "strategic" withdraw of the combined American and Canadian armed forces. Actually, the shattered remains of those armed forces.

"This damn war" George mumbled to himself. "Damn Khan and all of his unnatural kind". Everything has changed. Nothing is as it was. Nothing will return to normal, even after the war ends. Whatever 'normal' turns out to be after the war ends, he wasn't sure he wanted any part of it. Normal only existed right now, for this moment.

So, at this moment Major George Winslow Pierce (U.S. Army, Airborne Ranger, with a list of decorations so long he couldn't even remember them all) was commander of 1st Battalion, 15th Infantry Regiment (composite). In fact, it was the remnants of 1st _and_ 2nd battalions and actually only formed up into 2 slightly over-strength companies of three platoons each. It was a ragtag assortment of Army regulars, National Guard and Reserves, a squad of Marines, and a few Air Force types. There had been some local civil militias that had lent them 'support', especially for building their defensive positions within the park. But the militia people had all disappeared now. Didn't hold it against them. Really was better that they'd gone. Because this is was going to be the First of the Fifteenths' last stand. This was going to be what the military calls 'a delaying action'. They were going to butt heads with the first waves of Khan's 'Narco-merc' army, that was supported by Greene's 'Ultimate' forces. Buying 'North American Defense Command' the precious time they needed to evacuate the remaining intact armor and mech-infantry units west across the Mississippi. At the last possible moment, the Army Corp of Engineers would blow-up that last remaining bridge. After that, whatever units couldn't escape across the river, would form up with whatever was remaining of 'First of the Fifteenth' (some kind of bad joke?) and fight it out, extracting however much of the enemy blood they could before they themselves had no more to spill.

Being taken prisoner was not an option. Khan didn't hold POWs. He converted them. Converted them into his 'Narco-mercs'. It was a hellava situation. Many soldiers had been faced with later shooting dead their own best buddy, after the buddy had been captured alive days before. Khan never needed to worry about getting fresh recruits.

The planned action was actually quite simple. Three large east-west berms had been constructed in succession across the park. The northern most was the 'alpha-line'. The middle fallback position was 'bravo-line', with 'charlie-line' the most southern. George didn't actually expect to ever live to use the fallback 'charlie-line'. But all the same, had ordered ammo and other supplies to be buried in charlie's trench… Just in case.

The battalion would fully man the alpha-line and fight the enemy tooth & nail for as long as they could. But before being overrun, they would quickly withdraw from 'alpha' and take up new positions in 'bravo'. If anyone was left to fight before bravo was overrun, they would withdraw to charlie.

The Air Force would provide whatever air support they could to keep the sky clear of enemy air units. The 6th Infantry Division still had some gunships in their aviation battalions that could lend some much needed direct air support.

George's biggest headache was not having any real artillery support. No big guns. All he had available were three 120mm mortars and four of the much smaller 80mm mortars. He didn't expect any of the mortar units to last very long in the fight. But he had a plan for using them anyway. Luck was a fickle lady, and you just never knew when or if she'd wink at you. Better be prepared.

When George got to his position in the alpha-line, he noticed somebody had already dug him a spider-hole. How thoughtful. Every man and women fighting the line had their own spider-hole dug and ready. You never strayed far from it. You only had seconds to jump in after the EMP warning. The spider-hole was the soldiers personal fallout shelter in nuclear warfare. Roughly the size of a grave (maybe a little on the shallow side), the dirt shoveled out was carefully piled onto your spread out rain poncho. The EMP meters, closely watched by the NBC specialists (Nuclear, Biological and Chemical), would spike at mere seconds before a nuclear detonation. When the EMP warning horn blared, you jumped into your hole, grabbing the corner on your poncho and pulling it over on top of yourself. If your set it up correctly, all the dirt covered you, burying you alive. If you were lucky, you could push out of your spider-hole later (before running out of breathable air?) and continue to fight. Good ole mother earth was the best protection from radiation and fallout. So, if you could survive the blast concussion, and the initial rad-pulse, you could probably continue to fight for several hours after digging out, maybe even a whole day. If not, the spider-hole doubled as a nice and neat battlefield grave.

Sgt. Major Reynolds met up with the Major at his CP position. Both Alpha and Bravo company First Sergeants were with him. First Sgt Talus and First Sgt Freeman. Talus was a white Texan who didn't talk much to officers. Just nodded his head and said "Yes sir" whenever necessary. Kept his explanations to a minimum. Freeman was black, from Philly, George thought he remembered. Soft spoken and thoughtful, he never answered right away when he spoke. Always making sure his "ducks" were lined up in a nice neat row.

"Well sir", Reynolds started off. "I think we're as ready as we're ever gonna be. The 120's are set up and their ammo is ready. They'll fire across the preplanned grid line just like we worked it out. The 80s are gonna be mobile and flexible in their positioning. They'll drop a few rounds and then move. The heavy MGs are set up and their ammo supplies are ready in place. All the comm lines are set up, the whole net has been tested and is working. The NBC guys and gals got their equipment set up and checked out. Every one is in their position, ready to fight." Reynolds looked over at his two First Sergeants and grinned when he said "The only thing we need now is somebody to shoot at!"

That got a chuckle out of all four of them. Its weird the kind of dumb humor that'll cause you to laugh at a time like this.

"Soon enough" George said while still grinning, "that won't be a problem."

They continued to chuckle for a moment more. Then George said "First Sergeants, I'm not going to bore you with how to do your jobs. You know". He paused before saying "So… I'll be saying a few words soon, over the net to everyone. Be sure they're all on-line". And then adding "And make sure everyone pulls out an MRE and has something to eat".

"Yes sir" they both said almost in unison. Then, they both saluted and held it.

Major George Pierce stood at attention and returned their salute in the honored military tradition. "Post!" he said, indicating that they were dismissed to go about their duties.

The Sgt Major stood quietly with his battalion CO, while the two company First Sergeants moved off down the trench line. When they were alone, Clarence said "Anything else ya wanna tell me before this show gets started"?

"Nah" George shook his head, feeling tired. "You know the drill". He took a deep breath, then said "Just keep your eyes open for their incoming guided missiles. We gotta keep our mortars moving, before they get hit. That's really important"!

"Yes sir," Clarence said. "I'll take care of it".

"And keep the wounded up and fighting as long as they physically can" George added.

Clarence shaking his head up and down. "Yes sir, I'll keep the medics moving. We'll patch'em up and keep'em fighting".

There was a short silence while they looked each other in the eyes. Then George said in a low hushed voice "And Clarence… if any of the severely wounded ask for help, you know… doing it…"

Eyes locked on each other in another silent pause, Clarence then answered crisply "Yes sir. I know the drill".

"Yeah, we all do" George exhaustedly replied. He reached out his right hand and offered it to his Sgt Major. Momentarily startled by the offer, Clarence reached out his own and they shook hands firmly. "Thanks Clarence".

"See ya after the show, sir" Clarence replied with a grin.

"Yeah, after…"

Sgt Major Reynolds turned and started to move down the trench line when George called after him. "Hey Clarence…"

The Sgt Major stopped and turned with a questioning look on his face (now what?).

George shrugged his shoulders and ask "Did you notice we had no deserters, even after briefing what kind of mission this was going to be"?

"Did you expect any sir"? Clarence said grinning.

"No. I guess not".

"Neither did I". Still grinning, Sgt Major Clarence Reynolds turned a walked away.

Captain Nancy Foster, the battalion XO approached her CO with a salute.

"Major Pierce sir, I just walked the whole line. Both company COs and all the platoon leaders report ready".

He quickly returned her salute. "Okay captain. Lets settle in and play the waiting game".

"Sir, I figure about a quarter of our battalion fit the definition of 'walking wounded'. I worry about our ability to quickly fallback to the bravo line when the time comes".

"Understood captain". George rubbed his jaw, thinking for a moment. "Nancy, tell ya what. I want you to stay close to the Sgt Major. When it gets bad, he' gonna need your help, and you're gonna need his".

Grateful to be given a real job to do (such as it was), Nancy saluted the Major again with a smile. "Yes sir" I'll be right there with him sir".

George returned her salute. "Carry on Captain".

She shouldered her M-18 assault rifle and hurried down the trench line to find the Sgt Major.

George started checking his own weapons. He carried three Sig 9mm Automatic slide-action 'Military Special' handguns. One holstered across his chest, and the other two either side of his load-bearing belt. All had full magazines, a round chamber, cocked and safety ON. He had extra magazines in both his lower pants pockets. He lifted his M-18A1 assault rifle, slid back the bolt and let it slam forward. That always felt good, doing that. He checked that the fire selector position was set to semi-auto, so it would fire the big ten-penny nail size darts one at a time. Then he clipped the weapon to his harness. "Rock & roll, ready to go" he mumbled.

Better get on-line and talk to the troops he thought to himself. Didn't really know what to say to them. It always came out so cliché. But they needed to hear something from 'the old man', cliché or not. He pushed on his VOX box and spoke. "Listen up people!" And he began talking.


	2. Chapter 2 Hold the Line

Chapter Two: Hold the Line

A common cliché in the US military that describes a soldiers duties is "hurry-up and wait"! And so they did. Then…

The net crackled to life with an excited voice "I got movement in the northeast corner!"

George used his binoculars to zero in on the reported position. Sure enough, they were pouring into the park. Narco-mercs. They formed wide ranks and begin marching south, additional ranks quickly forming behind the lead rank.

The net was filled with talk, none of it useful. "Lets clear the net! Useful info only." George spoke. The chatter quieted down. He keyed onto the division net and transmitted "This is Reaper-6 at the gate. The show is starting. I say again, the show is starting".

"Reaper-6 this is Arch-angle. Copy your transmission. Make them bleed. We need more time".

"Reaper-6 acknowledges". Of course they needed more time. What else is new?

They watched on the alpha-line, for moments, and moments.

The narco-mercs of the lead rank began tripping mines and other ambush 'booby traps'. The old claymores exploded hugely, spraying 00 size buckshot into the front ranks of the advancing narco-mercs. The carnage was awful to witness. Surviving narco-mercs sucked heavily on the mouthpieces feeding them the narcotic joy gas they were all hopelessly addicted to. Trying to find some courage in the gas, or just to calm their nerves. Their Ultimate commanders and leaders whipped them or shot them. Motivation to keep marching forward. The Ultimate Army of General Rufus Greene. Unnatural humans, genetic modifications. The Emperor Khan's new world vision.

So the First of the Fifteenth watched as the advance continued toward them. More claymores tripped off. More ambushes sprayed the narco-mercs with mustard gas and acid.

"Heavy mortar crews, standby…" There was really no need for George to tell them when to open fire. The mortar crews knew. It was all preplanned and mapped out. So he gritted his teeth tightly and watched.

Right on cue, the 120s belched out their rounds, arching them high into the air so they fell right into the ranks of the hapless narco-mercs. Explosions that sprayed razor sharp shrapnel, cutting them down.

The heavy MGs opened up then. Really triple-barreled .30 caliber gatling guns, they ripped into the lead ranks, almost sawing some to the enemy soldiers in half. The carnage of blood and guts spilled and scattered across the field, didn't seem to affect George anymore. He'd already seen too much.

The growing ranks of narco-mercs continued to march on through the hail of heavy caliber gunfire and mortar explosions. Soon they were within rifle range and they opened fire on the American troops in the alpha-line trench. Greene's own artillery began to fall on the lower slope of the berm. The HE rounds (High Explosive) sent clouds of dirt and shrapnel raining down on the men and women in the trench.

As the narco-mercs came into range, the American troops opened fire with their M-18 assault rifles. It was now a real firefight made in hell.

The American troops were set up to fire at alternate off-angles relative to the trench line direction, and not at right angles. This caused the narco-mercs to be quickly pinned down in the buzz-saw effect of the cross-fire. The mortars pounded them further. Their advance was faltering. An enemy fighter-bomber came crashing down on the battlefield, a victim of either the US or Canadian air forces own fighters.

"Keep it coming you Air Force pukes" George mumbled as he alternately watched and fired his weapon.

The enemy artillery walked its way up the berm and finally into the alpha trench line. The results were terrible. A mortar crew was taken out. A heavy MG unit was blown to small pieces. Minor chaos ensued among the dead and wounded troops. Blood, bone and guts splattered everywhere. George cringed as he heard the reports over the net. He directed his troops to redeploy to plug up the holes in the trench line.

US and Canadian fighter-bombers blazed out of the sky, searching for the enemy artillery guns, dropping their cluster bombs as they found them.

But there was no reprieve. Guided missiles from Greene's Ultimate soldiers homed in on the remaining 120mm mortar units. A salvo of them landing in the trench. More troops down, more holes in the line. And the narco-mercs had started moving again. They'll be at the base of the berm too soon.

George realized that this was probably the moment. He might not get a better chance if he waited. And then, right on cue, the US Army helicopter gunships popped up behind him and began spraying gunfire and salvoing rockets into the narco-mercs.

That's it, he decided. "Withdraw, withdraw, withdraw" he shouted into his VOX box. "Form up at the bravo line. Lets move!"

The Army helicopter gunships covered their fighting withdraw. The gunships weaved back and forth, always changing direction. But still the Ultimate soldiers hit them with their shoulder launched SAMs. The few remaining gunships flew away as their ammo ran out. The wreckage of the others littered the battlefield.

George climbed into the bravo trench, nearly out of breath. He looked down the line. It was filling up with First of the Fifteenth survivors. Quickly setting up their new positions. Grabbing their slower buddies and pulling them in.

Down below the narco-mercs were overrunning the old alpha line. He could see them rummaging through the abandoned equipment, looking for anything useful. They were sucking heavily on their joy gas, every one of them. More and more of them came piling over the berm into the alpha trench, almost to overflowing. Then just before the Ultimate commanders could get them advancing again toward the bravo line…

George reached down and picked up the control box that had been placed in the bravo trench CP position, waiting for him. Flipping open the switch guard and without ceremony, he pushed the red button all the way down. The entire alpha trench line erupted in a huge explosion. Hundreds of sticks of dynamite had been buried, hidden in the alpha trench, all wired together.

"Courtesy of your Missouri state militia". George spoke, to no one in particular.

The First of the Fifteenth survivors in the bravo line cheered loudly, shaking their fists in the air at the carnage of narco-mercs and their Ultimate officers below. The US troops spit at them. They cursed them. They took shots at the dazed, wounded narco-mercs as they wandered in circles after the explosion. The bravo-line sounded like a cheering section in a stadium. The home team had scored an important point. For a moment, George felt good and smiled. Until some movement further a field caught his attention.

The ranks of narco-mercs that hadn't yet gotten to the old alpha-line trench were quickly withdrawing from the park. This was not a good sign. They never give up this easy. George looked to the northeast sky. Hard to see anything in the dark, dirty overcast. He thought to himself, "is this what I think it is…"?

He spoke quickly into the net "NBCs, watch your EMP meters"! He kept looking, and then he saw it. A thin white contrail was arching toward them from the east-north-east.

"Oh NO"! he cried out. Dread and terror were the only emotions he had now. He shouted into the net as he dove into a close by spider-hole "incoming nuke"!

Everything in George's world then happened in slow motion. He heard the nuclear warning horns blare (just for a second?). Someone on the net said "EM Pulse!" just as the whole net went dead. In a nano-second of silence that seemed to last much longer, he pulled the corner of the poncho onto himself and at the same time turned over in the bottom of the hole so he would be face down in the mud. He felt the dirt and mud cover him from above. He struggled to move his arms up to his head, he wanted to cover his ears. But he couldn't quite do it.

He had seen it happen plenty of times now in this war. But always from a 'near miss' distance. This time though, it was a ring-side seat.

The low-yield tactical-nukes usually detonated about 800 ft above the ground. But buried in his spider-hole, he'd never know which kind it was. High-yield or low-yield?

Then came the sound. It was like the loudest thunder crack of lightening he'd ever heard. Growing up in South Dakota, he had witnessed and ridden through all manner of powerful thunder storms. But this was like nothing… Even buried in his spider-hole he heard it as well as felt it. And then the concussion wave hit. Buried in the ground, he felt the earth move. He felt powerless to do anything. He might have screamed. He clutched handfuls of mud in the bottom of his hole. He gritted his teeth so hard while the earth seemed to be shoved one way and then spun around. Buried in the ground, it felt like the chunk of earth he was in had broken away and been flung through the air. The last sensation he felt was being body slammed so hard. So hard.


	3. Chapter 3 Survivors

Chapter Three: Survivors

What is happening to me? Where am I? Who am I? Do I exist? Is this life? George's conscious mind begin to function again. But it was an overload of confusion. The first correct sensation he was able to process was that he couldn't breathe very well. He desperately needed to take a breath of air. He started to struggle as sensation returned to his arms, hands and legs. Which way is up? He pushed and shoved at the mud and dirt covering him. Panic started to take hold as he pushed with all of his might.

He partially broke free and got his head up into the free air, spitting dirt and stones out of his mouth. Gasping a breath into his burning lungs. He strained again and again to get air. His thinking finally started to clear a little. Pushing and shoving again, trying to get his hands up and free. Slowly he was winning the struggle.

Kicking his legs, he was almost free when he heard someone calling.

"Major Pierce! Is that you"?

But it was just noise to George. His ears were ringing like a fire alarm. And he was still very dazed.

George twisted his head, looking all around as he finally kicked himself free of the spider-hole. The world he saw now looked very different from the world he last saw before diving into his almost battlefield grave. It was dark. The wind was blowing snow flurries all around mixed with falling mud. He briefly remembered a story of 'black rain'.

He heard someone shouting towards him again.

"Hey Major! You okay"?

The ringing in his ears was still too much. Is someone out there?

George saw some shapes coming toward him, out of the inky shadows. He thought he recognized them. A dark man approached him. He was covered in mud, but George saw that was Clarence Reynolds, his Sgt Major.

George broke into a great smile as the mud rained down on his face. He clasped his muddy hand on Clarence's shoulder and tried to say "Man, I'm I glad to see you"! But the words wouldn't come out, just mumbles.

"It'll come back sir. Don't worry! It'll come back to you".

George was still breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. He begin to realize that the snow wasn't really snow. It was ash. He shuddered to think, 'ash from what'?

He looked at Clarence again. There was another soldier that Clarence was partly holding up, partly dragging with him. The young man was missing his left arm. A heavy field bandage and tourniquet wrapped around the end of his shoulder. The poor kid seemed to only be semi-conscious. Clarence noticed the Major checking the kid out. He shouted in George's ear "He's Walker, from Bravo Company. He's the only one I've found so far… besides you".

George shook his head that he understood. He got on the other side of Walker and tried to lend a hand getting him up on his feet.

Pointing to the south, George mumbled and shouted at the same time "We shou moo to'da high-way… pick-up moe strag-glers".

Clarence shook his head in agreement. "OK, let's go"!

It was at that moment that George noticed the rad-badge that was pinned onto Walkers field jacket. He stopped Clarence for a moment and fumbled in his pants pockets for his mini-mag flashlight.

Normally, the little window in the radiation detection badge showed a clean white indication. That was good.

But in this case, Walkers badge showed only black. That was bad. Very bad.

George lowered his flashlight and met Clarence eye-to-eye. "Yeah" Clarence said somberly, "Mine too".

George turned his flashlight around and pointed it at himself. Finding his own rad-badge on his left field jacket pocket, he saw dark gray streaks forming inside the little window. Those gray streaks were probably growing darker by the minute. It wouldn't be long before his was all black too.

George let out a long exhausted breath. He guess he always knew it would end like this. A warrior lives by the sword, so a warrior will die by the sword. He just wished it had been a quicker, cleaner death.

Clarence shook the Majors shoulder to snap him out of his melancholy. "It's OK sir. They can't hurt us anymore".

George shook his head that he understood. Of course his Sgt Major was right. There was nothing that could be done, except find a comfortable place to wait. Even if Khan's forces found them now, they wouldn't waste any effort on them. Not one way or the other. But maybe he and his Sgt Major could set up one more ambush before the end. Take a few more of Khan's or Greene's devils to hell with them.

George nodded to the south again and they struggled off in that direction. They stumbled along in the dark, through the deep mud and among the debris. They did that for what seemed like the longest time.

George was terribly thirsty, but didn't have any water. He had lost his canteen back in the trenches. They once found a mangled corpse with a canteen still attached to its belt. Clarence unclipped it and gave it a shake. He smiled, unscrewed the cap and took a small drink, then passed it to his CO. George did the same. Water never tasted so good. They tried to get Walker to take a drink, and then moved on toward the highway.

George didn't know what time it was. His wrist watch had stopped running a long time ago. His handheld GPS receiver, which could have shown the time, was lost back in the trenches. It was dark, but you couldn't know if that was because it was night or just obscured cloud cover from the nuclear winter. So they stumbled on in the cold and dark.

Up ahead George begin to see a long line of shadowy shapes. As they got closer, they realized it was the highway, the one leading up to the last bridge across the Mississippi River. And the shadowy shapes were the wrecked and mangled remains of armored tanks and APCs (Armored Personnel Carriers).

The rain of mud had mostly stopped now. The remains of soldiers were scattered around. George heard a voice call to them from one of the wrecks as they approached it.

"Hey, ya got any water"?

A young man was sitting in the mud with his back against the wrecked AFV (Armored Fighting Vehicle). His uniform was covered in mud and blood. His rad-badge was also black. His rank insignia indicated he was a Private First Class. "Got any water"?

George and Clarence exchanged looks for a moment, communicating in silence. "Go ahead Sgt Major. Give him a drink".

Clarence unscrewed the cap of the canteen and held it firmly in front of the young soldier. "One swallow" he said "We gotta share this with all the others still alive".

The young PFC gulped one swallow down and then let out a long and load sigh. "Ahhh…" He focused his eyes on both of them and said "It won't matter. We're all gonna die now. There's noth'en left, noth'en".

George was just a little irritated at the young PFC. But had to temper his anger, given the situation. "It ain't over yet trooper. Try to remember that".

Still sitting in the same position they had found him in, he simply answered back "Whatever".

There was some movement on the highway coming from the east. George and Clarence noticed it at once. They sat Walker down in the mud to sit next to the young trooper already there. "You two chat and get know each other" George said as he begin to steel around to the other side of the wrecked AFV.

"Sure thing" the young trooper said. "Hey buddy, ya got any water"?

Clarence had done the same as George, but from the opposite end. They crotched down, readied their weapons and silently waited in the dark shadows.

Two figures came into view after a short while. They were wearing Chemical/Radiation uniforms that completely covered them. George could make out that the two were casually chatting as they came closer. They stopped at the wrecked APC before reaching the one George and Clarence were hiding behind. They were examining another soldier.

"No, this one's dead too". The first one said.

Narco-mercs! George knew they had to be.

"Ro-ten Yankee dog"! The other one nearly shouted. His accent sounded African. A lot of the narco-mercs were. He then kicked the corpse hard with his heavy booted foot and joined his comrade as they approached were George and Clarence were hiding.

They stopped to examine Walker. Walker stared back at them, still dazed and only semi-conscious.

The first narco-merc took a good look at Walker before saying "Nah, this ones no good. He's missing an arm and his badge has blacked-out".

The African merc cocked his assault rifle and said "Dis Yan-kee dog is blacked-out doo"! He pointed his weapon at the young trooper.

"Hey buddy, ya got any water"? the young trooper repeated again.

The first narco-merc brushed his comrades weapon over to the side. "Whatta ya doin"! his said. "Don't waste ammo on these. We'll be crossin the river soon and you'll wish you had every round then".

The African merc sucked hard on his joy gas mouth piece inside the enclosed helmet. "I wanna kill some Yank-ee dog"! he shouted, and stomped his boots. "Day keep fighten dis a war, and kill bota my braddas"! He sucked hard on his joy gas again.

"Chill out man…" the first started to say, just as George came around the corner of the wrecked AFV with his Sig hand gun extended in his right hand.

Clarence had done the same from the opposite end, only he had an M-18 leveled at the First merc. "Hey fella" Clarence said in a stern voice, "the trooper axed ya for some water. Got any?" The narco-merc was totally confused, so he sucked hard on his joy gas. Clarence didn't have anymore time to waste on this guy, so he pulled the trigger once in full auto mode and fired a three round burst into the merc's chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Almost at the same time, George fired three 9mm rounds into the African merc, center of mass. An expert at handling the weapon, he slightly elevated his aim with each trigger pull. The merc's eyes were so wide open with surprise, George thought they were going to bug out of their sockets! The African merc fell to the ground clutching his neck wound while blood spurted between his fingers.

George staggered backwards a step after this. He had seen and done much worse in this war and other earlier actions during his time as a Ranger. But for some reason he was now very nauseated and felt sick as a dog. He leaned against the wrecked AFV and tried to catch is breath.

Clarence noticed him while he was cutting the uniform off the first narco-merc. "Its OK Major. It's radiation sickness, that's all. I been feel'n it too". He removed the gas tank and plumbing from the dead merc and set it on the ground next to Walker. "Here son, take a hit".

This was not new. George has seen it done before by medics in the field to ease the pain of troopers that were mortally wounded and beyond help. Clarence passed the mouth piece over to the other young trooper so he could take a hit.

Walkers dazed look cleared away and he spoke for the first time "Hey Sgt Major. What's happening, where are we"?

Clarence patted Walkers good shoulder, smiled and gently spoke to him "War's over son. Time to party"!

"Sgt Major" George spoke now. "Lets head over to the area of the bridge and see if we can pickup anymore of our people".

Clarence pointed his index finger at Walker and said while still smiling "We'll be right back". Then while stepping toward George he almost laughed as he told both of the young troopers they were leaving "Now you two stay here and don't go off to the dance without us"!

As they headed in the direction of the bridge, Clarence asked "How long ya think we got sir"?

"I have no idea right now Sgt Major. I wish I did, but I don't".

They walked on, inspecting inside and around all the wrecked vehicles they passed. They didn't find anymore living.

George was feeling pretty weak by the time they got to the ramp of the bridge. The bridge itself was mostly gone, as far as they could see. Part of the western side of the span was in the river, a twisted and mangled wreck. A little morning daylight started to shine through the dark overcast causing long shadows to be cast towards the west.

George thought the Sgt Major was looking pretty weak too. They were both hungry, but knew that eating was out of the question. They'd never be able to keep it down, and that would only make them feel sicker.

They thought they heard voices then, to the north of the bridge ramp, not very far. Quietly, they moved in that direction to investigate. Using wrecked automobiles and other large debris, they moved from cover to cover. Always keeping in the shadows.

The voices grew load and angry. Someone was having an argument about something.

George and Clarence split apart and flanked either side of the arguing party. Quietly getting closer.

Until they were close enough to notice three men standing next to a large six-wheeled armored command car. It was painted silver, with blue and white trim, and bore the crest of emperor Khan Noonien Singh next to the side door. And there was Khan himself, standing there with his arms crossed while his commander, General Greene was arguing with a very tall and slender elderly white gentleman.

Greene was a very muscular Black African who spoke with a British accent. He stood tall and proud while he spoke in his slow deep voice, trying to convince his emperor to disregard 'this seven' (whatever that meant), and cross the river with all haste to continue the attack. "Ultimate victory for the Ultimate people is so near, my emperor".

The elderly man was very tall and slender but looked strong and confident despite his age. He had a full head of snowy white hair and very stern eyes (George would always remember those eyes). The old man offered the counter argument "Khan, you've got to stop this". His voice was so stern, as if he were scolding an unruly child. "All of your life I've warned you that it would come down to this. If you listen to him, there won't be anything left when he's finished. There'll be nothing! _All_ life will end"!

And this continued, while George and Clarence exchanged secret hand signals and prepared to attach.

George couldn't believe their good fortune. The last deed I'll do in my life, is to kill Khan and Greene! The thought seemed to fill him with glee. He needed to calm himself. Gotta approach this from the cold side he reminded himself. Chilly. Like the ice-man.

George and Clarence exchanged looks from across their concealed positions. George drew his chest holstered Sig and his right holstered Sig, one for each hand. Each was cocked and chambered. "Rock & roll, ready to go" he whispered to himself.

He looked across one more time at Clarence. His Sgt Major nodded his head once in acknowledgement. They would go on '3'. George nodded his head once… twice…and on the third nod they jumped up and ran out of their positions. They ran forward and covered the open ground quickly toward the three men standing by the 6x6 command car.

Things happened very quickly at first. Shots were fired from the opposite direction. Other people suddenly appeared from covered positions that George hadn't notice before (how stupid could I be to miss that?). People shouted at them. Fired on them. George stumbled and fell. Rolling, he got back up on his feet and had his right Sig pointed directly at Khan, point blank range.

He shouted "Nobody move! I'll blow him away, I swear to god"!

Khan just stared at him with his arms still crossed against his chest.

Where was Clarence, his Sgt Major?

Greene had him in a strangle hold. Clarence had been hit and was bleeding badly from his left side.

Greene had a large combat knife in his free had. He slowly raised it up to Clarence's throat.

George had his left Sig pointed in Greene's direction.

All time seem to freeze then. What do they call this in the movies, George thought? A Mexican standoff? Well, something's gotta give, sooner or later.

Khan spoke for the first time. "I tire of this". He shifted his gaze to Greene as if to sending a silent order.

Greene spoke to George "So, you are the leader of the park resistance battle. Well done. I salute you. You are indeed the Ultimate soldier. Come, join us. I will make you my general, and you can enjoy a great bounty when this conflict ends in our Ultimate victory"!

"Now…," Greene said. "Choose carefully".

Greene's Ultimate soldiers had slowly started closing in, forming a circle around the command car.

George was feeling really weak, but he breathed deeply trying to keep his head clear.

"You're a real idiot General, you know that?" George said out of the side of his mouth toward Greene, but keeping his eyes fixed on Khan.

The old white-haired man held both of his hands up, palms facing out. Like a referee at a boxing match trying to keep the boxers apart from each other. He spoke very measured words, "Everyone just stay calm. Don't do anything rash. No one needs to die here".

The old man spoke directly at George "Young man, please lower your guns and I promise you, no one will hurt you. You will, I assure you, get the medical attention you need. Your comrade will too".

Then he turned to Khan and spoke, "Khan, tell him this is true. Assure him".

George was getting really shaky now. He didn't know if he could keep this up much longer. But then events changed.

General Greene shouted "Enough! I tire of this seven's interference in our affairs". And with that, he quickly drew the knife across Clarence's throat and then released his hold on him.

Clarence fell to his knees and grabbed for his throat before falling over sideways completely. His eyes stared blankly into the dirty sky.

Next, everything happened at once. Or at least, it seemed that way.

George screamed.

He repeatedly fired his left Sig in General Greene's direction. At the same time, he had his full attention on Khan.

Ultimate soldiers shouted at him and rushed him with their assault rifles raised.

The old man had a black writing pen in his hands, pointing it at George (what kind of crazy thing is the old man going to do with a pen!).

At the same time, the old man was shouting "No! Don't do it"!

George squeezed the trigger of the Sig aimed at Khan with his right index finger.

Before he could feel the Sig fire, he heard assault rifle fire from the several Ultimate soldiers rushing him. A high velocity bullet whizzed by like an angry wasp. A painful sting on his left hand caused him to drop the Sig he was holding.

From the direction of the old man, there appeared a blinding blue light from his writing pen and then George felt his body dissolve.

His last conscious thought was "So this is death? Its not so bad."

End of Part 1

**War Relic** Part 2, **Somewhere in Time**, will be coming soon!


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